The Night at the Crossroads by Georges Simenon Page B

Rambouillet … You’d best take a look at the map … I want every police station on alert! Get the roadblock chains up outside the
towns … We’ve got them, this bunch … What’s Else Andersen doing?’
    â€˜I don’t know. I left her in her room. She’s very depressed.’
    â€˜You don’t say!’ barked Maigret with surprising sarcasm.
    They were still standing out in the road.
    â€˜Where should I call from?’
    â€˜There’s a phone in the hall of the garage owner’s house. Start with Orléans, because they’ve probably gone through Étampes by now.’
    A light came on in an isolated farmhouse surrounded by fields. The family was getting up. A lantern disappeared around the end of a wall, and then the windows of a stable lit up.
    â€˜Five o’clock … They’re beginning to milk the cows.’
    Lucas went off to force open the door of Monsieur Oscar’s house with a crowbar from the garage.
    As for Grandjean, he followed Maigret around without really understanding what was happening.
    â€˜The latest incidents are as clear as day,’ grumbled the
inspector. ‘All we need to find out is what started it all …
    â€˜Look! Up there is a citizen who sent for me specifically to show me that he couldn’t walk. He’s been sitting in the same place for hours, without moving a muscle, not one muscle …
    â€˜Aha! Michonnet’s windows are lit up, aren’t they! And there I was, just now, looking for the signal! You can’t understand the problem now … The traffic was going on by without stopping! But all that time, the
bedroom window
was completely dark
 …’
    Maigret laughed like someone tickled pink.
    And suddenly his colleague saw him pull a revolver from his pocket and aim it at an unbroken upstairs window, at the shadow of a head leaning back in an armchair.
    The report was as sharp as a whip-crack. Then came the shattering of the window and a shower of glass shards into the garden.
    Yet nothing moved in the bedroom. The shadow was intact behind the linen shade.
    â€˜What have you done?’
    â€˜Break down the door! … No – ring the bell instead! I’d be surprised if someone didn’t open up.’
    But no one did. The house was completely silent.
    â€˜Break it down!’
    Grandjean was a big, burly man. He reared back and threw himself three times at the door, which finally gave way, ripped off its hinges.
    â€˜Careful … Easy does it …’
    They each had a weapon out. The first light they turned
on was in the dining room. On the table, still sitting on the red check cloth, were dirty dinner dishes and a carafe with some white wine left in
it. Maigret finished it off, right from the carafe.
    There was nothing in the drawing room. Dust covers on furniture. The musty atmosphere of a room no one ever uses.
    A cat was the only creature to run out of the white-tiled kitchen.
    Grandjean kept looking uneasily at Maigret. They soon went upstairs to the landing and its three closed doors.
    The inspector opened the one to the front bedroom.
    The shade was stirring in a draught from the broken window. They saw a ridiculous object leaning against the armchair: a broom with a round turban of rags around the top, which stuck up over the back of the chair so it would look like a head in
the shadow seen from outside.
    But this sight did not amuse Maigret, who opened a connecting door and turned on the light in the neighbouring bedroom, which was empty.
    The third door led to the attic. Apples lay on the floor, about two fingers’ width apart from one another, and strings of green beans hung from a beam. There was a bedroom intended for a maid but unused, for it contained nothing but an old
night table.
    They went back downstairs. Maigret walked through the kitchen and out to the courtyard, which faced